Nobody Has to Die
by Hayseed Socrates
Summary: Jane and Lisbon both come to some important conclusions. Just a one shot I wrote to channel my anxiety while waiting for 7.10 (Nothing Gold Can Stay) to air. Hope you find it enjoyable.


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I don't own these characters. Wish I did. Because then I'd instruct the real writers as to the things I'd like to see happen, and I could quit scribbling away at this stuff. I'd get a lot more sleep. Thanks a lot, Bruno.

_AN: This was written simply as a way for me to cope while I wait for 7.10 to air. I should have titled it "Hayseed's Therapy," I suppose. Not gonna be one of my favorites, but it has served its purpose, so I thought I'd put it out there._

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Jane and Lisbon were on their way home – already on the elevator, as a matter of fact - when Dennis Abbott's hand caught the door.

"Jane, Lisbon," he greeted them. "I know it's late, but a friend down in "White Collar" just called me. They're interrogating a person of interest who could be huge in bringing down a ring of cyber thieves, but they're getting nowhere with her. Time is tight, and they were wondering if Jane might come down and give it a whirl."

Jane looked at Lisbon. They'd been planning a nice quiet dinner, sitting outside at his place under the stars, but they both knew how this would go now. Jane read Lisbon's '_you have to do this, you know' _expression, and sighed. "Sure," he agreed, resigned to his duty. "I'll be in your office in five minutes."

Abbott took his cue to leave them alone – they weren't fooling him anyway. "Thanks," he said, and headed to his office to wait.

As they rode the elevator down together, she could sense his disappointment. "Hey," she said. "Tell you what. I'll cook something for you tonight and have it waiting for you." She grinned. "Something special?"

"For me?" he asked. She loved that little boy look that popped out when she doted on him in any way. "You don't have to…" he began to protest.

"No, I want to. You cook for me all the time. I'll have dinner waiting at the Airstream – just text me twenty or thirty minutes before you leave, okay?"

"Finally," Jane said, grinning. He continued in an exaggerated Texas drawl. "'Bout time ah got me uh little woman who's got mah supper onna table when ah git home."

Lisbon smacked his arm, simultaneously reaching up to peck his cheek right before the door opened. She stepped out, and turned to face him. "See you soon," he said, as she stood watching the elevator door close. Jane wiped a hand over his face and punched the "five" button.

**XXXXXXXXXX**

Virginia McKee was the ex-lover of suspected cyber thief Ethan Jill, a man that the 'white collar' unit was anxious to get their hands on for a number of reasons. So far, McKee had refused to talk to them about Jill at all, except to say that he had left their relationship about a year ago. They felt certain she held helpful information about the man, but she was a lawyer, she knew her rights, and she had little interest in assisting the FBI.

The neatly dressed woman was confident, with intelligent eyes, and yet she had an air of weariness about her. Jane watched though the one-way mirror while a couple of other agents questioned her unsuccessfully, and soon came to a conclusion. "May I talk with her now?" he asked.

As he proceeded to evaluate McKee, Jane was at his charming, manipulative best. The two agents who had proceeded him stood with Abbott in the observation room and marveled as the woman slowly but surely let down all of her barriers and began to tell her story to one Patrick Jane.

"Hats off to you, Dennis," the supervising agent said. "Your guy is something."

"That he is," acknowledged Abbott.

Meanwhile, a talkative and emotional Virginia McKee proceeded to spill her guts, with Jane as her confessor. "I had just made partner at Dewey, Steele, and Howe – the most prestigious law firm in Ft. Worth," she said, holding her head high. "I loved my work and I was damn good at it. And then? Then I met Ethan Jill.

He was with an IT firm out of San Antonio that we used as consultants from time to time. When we first met we liked each other immediately, but he was married. That ended not long afterward, with a messy divorce but no children. And soon after that, when he was in town, we began seeing each other."

"You were lovers."

"Yes. It started casually, just hooking up when he was in town, though we gradually became closer. Things were wonderful when we were together. But when his work in Ft. Worth was over, he would disappear – sometimes back to San Antonio, and sometimes off on 'other business.' He was vague about that, but we didn't like to talk shop, so I didn't think much about it. We continued on like that for a couple of years, until we both realized we wanted more from the relationship. That we were really in love."

She shifted in her chair, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before continuing. "I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that Ethan convinced me to quit my job and essentially 'run off' with him. He said he had a good nest egg saved, and I had a tidy sum myself. Being a partner was lucrative. I was at that age - fortyish – when a single professional woman wonders if she will ever have a life outside of work. A marriage, perhaps? Probably too late for children, but a shared life, at least. Someone to grow old with.

So I took the risk. I quit my job, and went with him," she shrugged. "Things were perfect for awhile. Some days I missed my job, but far less so than I had anticipated, and I was happy. We were happy.

Over time, though, I began to notice things. Secret things. Ethan would take unexplained trips, and spend time in his office with the door locked. At first I thought he might be having an affair, but deep in my heart, I knew that wasn't it. I tried asking him about it a couple of times, but he would deflect my concerns and assure me everything was fine. He loved me, and I was certain of that. Nothing else seemed as important.

Then one morning I woke up and he was gone. He left me a note, the son of a bitch. A _note_."

"What did it say?" Jane asked gently.

"_'I'm in trouble and I don't want to involve you. I need to protect you from this. I'm so sorry. _And he signed it, _'I love you.'"_

"And then?"

Her voice had taken on a bitter edge. "Haven't seen him since. It's been nearly a year. I took a crappy job with some ambulance chaser group that I hate. I'm too old to really start again – no reputable firm wants a quitter. And the worst part? I'm alone," she admitted. "Oh, I have family. A sister and a brother, and they're great. But it's not…" She left her sentence unfinished.

"Is there anything you would be willing to give us that might help the FBI catch him?"

She shook her head and laughed a mirthless laugh. "You'd think I would want to, wouldn't you? The truth is, I don't have anything that would help you. I turned a blind eye because what we had together was so good, and I had decided to just live in the moment. A part of me knew he would leave some day - I knew leaving my job would be a mistake. Now the moment is over and I'm getting on with what's left of my life."

"I'm sorry," Jane said. She was telling the truth – he was sure of it. Not only that, her story was making him think about some other things in a whole new light. Things that had nothing to do with this case.

"And you know what?" Virginia said, totally comfortable with Jane as her confessor now.

"What?"

"If I knew? If I _could_ provide you with information that would help you find Ethan?" She snorted. "I probably wouldn't give it to you. How pathetic is that?"

"Not at all, Virginia. Thank you for talking with me," Jane said, giving a sincere, sympathetic smile to the woman. He paused as he exited the room and added, "Good luck."

**XXXXXXXXX**

"She's telling the truth," he told the other agents.

"Are you sure?" the senior man asked.

"You asked for my opinion. That's what I'm giving you, but I'm 99% sure."

**XXXXXXXXX**

On the drive home, Jane was deep in thought. His talk with the woman had been illuminating, to say the least. No wonder Teresa was seeing their relationship "in the moment." He gave his wedding ring a twist. Of course she wants to keep the job that she loves. He somehow had to make her understand that he wasn't going anywhere. That it would be impossible for him to leave her now. That his final shot at happiness – even his reason for being – depended on her, and nothing else.

He pressed his foot on the gas pedal. He had to get home to her and let her know. He had to tell her. He had to tell her everything.

**XXXXXXXXX**

On her way home, Lisbon had decided she would fix chili for supper. There was a nip in the air this evening that begged for something warm and spicy, and she knew Jane loved the stuff, especially with jalapeno cornbread. She'd made a quick stop at the grocery, and soon had a scrumptious pot of chili simmering on the cook top in the Airstream. Now she could wait until Jane called her to tell her he was on his way, and then she would start the cornbread.

With her culinary duties under control, she pulled on a jacket and went outside to sit at the little table. She was a city girl, but she had come to appreciate a lot of the things about nature that Jane found so fascinating. The stars were a fine example, and tonight's clear sky, with it's myriad of twinkling lights, stirred a feeling of wonder inside her. A feeling of peace.

After their talk at the dance, things had been going much better. Jane seemed to have reached some sort of decision not to push so much about the dangers inherent to her job, and she was hopeful he was turning the corner on his fears. At the very least, he promised not to pull a stunt like he did a couple of weeks back on that witness case. Maybe if she kept telling him it would be okay, he would eventually believe it. He would be okay, in time.

As she stared at the big dipper, she thought about the chili ladle, which in turn made her think about cornbread muffins. Which reminded her that she hadn't located a pan to cook the cornbread. She got to her feet and climbed back up into the Airstream.

She took inventory. She had cornbread mix, the necessary egg and milk, a jar of jalapenos, and a measuring cup. But no pan, she realized. She needed a pan to bake the cornbread. Preferably a muffin pan. She began to ransack the efficiently arranged cabinets of the Airstream's little kitchen. She found a cookie sheet, a pizza pan, a nonstick skillet -but no muffin pan. As much as this man liked muffins, surely he owned a muffin pan.

Not to be defeated, she climbed up on the counter so she could check the thin row of cabinets along the ceiling of the vehicle. She reached a hand back into one cubby hole, pulling out a wire cooling rack and a small roasting pan. In the process, she noted that the space seemed significantly smaller than it should be. So she reached down and got a flashlight from Jane's 'miscellaneous' drawer, and took a closer look into the space.

Upon inspection, she discovered that the compartment had a false back. A wooden panel was secured with four screws – one in each corner, and judging by the bits of sawdust lying around, it had been freshly fabricated.

Jane had hidden something here. And recently. Her first thought was that she should respect his privacy, and she reached a hand down to replace the wire rack and pan. Wait a minute, she thought. We've agreed. No secrets. Of course there _could_ be a present for her hidden in there, she thought with a smile. But no, that didn't make any sense. No need to hide a present this thoroughly. Whatever was in there, it was something that Jane didn't need to get to in a hurry, and something he didn't want anyone to find.

It slowly settled over her that she needed to know what this was. Fake passports for a quick escape? Pilfered jewels? Surely not. And yet. She took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and found a screwdriver in Jane's drawer. Proper tool in hand, she crawled back up on the counter, positioned the flashlight so she could see, and went about backing out all of the screws. Then she carefully pulled the piece of wood out of the cabinet to reveal the contents of the hidden space.

When she saw a black plastic case, she pulled in a sharp breath. She maneuvered the case out, sat it on the counter, and climbed down to inspect it. Her heart was pounding as she flipped the latches on the case, knowing what she would find, and yet hoping she was wrong.

Sure enough, she opened the container to reveal a handgun – a Glock 23. In the corner of the case was a small plastic bag with three bullets. She knew in one horrible instant what this was for – why it was here. Lisbon sank into the bench seat across the aisle and rested her elbows on the table, cradling her face in her hands. This was not a firearm for protection, and she knew it.

He'd been trying to tell her all along, hadn't he? She simply hadn't wanted to hear it, and so she'd continued assuring him that everything would be okay. But he was right, she didn't know that. He knew from horrific experience that it wasn't always true.

She had been telling the man that she loved that he had to accept the risk because she was willing to take it herself, and too bad if he knew he couldn't live if he lost her. "_I don't know how I'd react if I lost you."_ He'd told her right out loud, but she wasn't listening. And here she had thought he might have come to terms with her choices and accepted them. Which in a way, he had. _Not like this, Jane. God, not like this._

She recalled years ago, when Jane had told her about his stint in the psychiatric hospital. He had been deeply ashamed that he had broken down, unable to handle the grief. And now, he was afraid he would do it again, if she died. How could she not understand what he was trying to tell her, she wondered.

In perfect world, she should be able to have whatever job she wanted, and have the man she loved respect and accept her decision. Life, however, had never been perfect. It was always messy and complicated, and choices were never neat. Never easy.

Patrick Jane loved her. Enough to stay with her, despite the fact that she was asking him to deal with his justly earned fears on a regular basis. As much as she loved her job, was it worth doing this to the person she loved? How could she have been this deaf to the depth of his fears? Her, of all people?

She would put the pistol back where she found it, and say nothing. And then, she decided, she would begin to look for a job within the agency that required less exposure. Less risk. Surely they could find a compromise that suited them both.

Just then, she heard the crackle of tires on the gravel outside, and the slam of a car door. Panic rose inside her. He hadn't called. _He hadn't called._ In a flash she climbed onto the counter to shove the case, the false back, and the pans back into the compartment, and slammed the door shut.

Outside, his footsteps approached. She hopped down, wiped her face on her sleeve, and practically flew out the door. Better to meet him outside, in the dark, where he couldn't read her face as easily. But the instant she was down the steps, he gathered her into his arms in a bone-crushing hug. Wait. What was going on? she wondered.

"Teresa, I love you," he breathed into her ear as he held her. "We need to talk. I need to talk. You know that I would never leave you, right?"

"We _do_ need to talk," she said, hugging him back just as tightly. "I've been thinking, if my job bothers you that much, maybe I could find something a bit less dangerous."

He pulled back in surprise, holding her upper arms in his hands and peering intently at her. It didn't take him long, even in the dark.

"Damn," he whispered.

"I…I was looking for a pan."

"Ah." He looked away, unable to face her.

"Patrick. Look at me." He reluctantly met her eyes. "I've been insensitive," she admitted. "And I'm sorry."

Watching the flood of relief wash over him made her more certain of her decision. His voice was small and tender when he spoke. "I just can't…"

"I know," she said.

"Look, I'll do whatever you want," he explained. "I've been insensitive as well. And stupid." He let go of her arms and then, without any hesitation whatsoever, removed his ring, holding it between them in his open palm. "Teresa, will you keep this for me? Someplace safe?" He took her hand and turned it palm up, placing his ring in it, and closed her fingers around it.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she thought quickly. She reached back and unclasped her cross necklace, and threaded the ring onto it. "I'll keep it here for now. So we won't lose it."

"Thank you," he nodded with a little smile.

"Let's go inside," she said, dipping her head toward the door. "And talk. Really talk. About everything."

"Okay."

As she took his hand and guided him up the stairs, he sniffed the air. "Chili, Teresa? It smells divine. Cornbread? With jalapenos?"

"Maybe. Where the hell do you keep your muffin pan, anyway?"

He walked over and opened the cabinet under the sink, pulling out a six cup muffin tin. Their eyes met and they began to laugh, and in that moment, both of them knew that they would work this out. There were difficult discussions to be had and concessions to be made, yes, but now that they were both willing to talk…

"Okay if I help you?" he asked, reaching up for a mixing bowl.

"Yes," she smiled. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

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Bracing myself for 7.10. Hope this helped pass the time for you.


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